


lover, be good to me

by Nimravidae



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: All Comfort all Day, All We Crave is Softness, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, look - Freeform, wrist kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: Sebastian is sick. Luckily, Alex is there to care for him(That's it, that's the fic.)
Relationships: Alex/Sebastian (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 75





	lover, be good to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duendecillo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duendecillo/gifts).



> Happy Valentines Day! Take this, have fun, don't go too wild. 
> 
> Eventually, I'll connect all these smaller ficlets into a series once I come up with a _title_ for it. 
> 
> Again, generally understood to be in the far, far, far, far future of refounding(ish?) but also existing as a stand-alone concept of just Alex and Sebastian being themselves, both critically and chronically. 
> 
> This is for Duendecillo, who needed/wanted/is getting some softness in this world today!

The water splashes against the blaze-white of the bathtubs wall, ripples crashing and rocking back across the surface until they rock into Sebastian’s knees. They poke out of the water, two knobbled little islands as he sinks further down into the heat. Until his nose is covered, leaving two dark eyes glaring across the steam and tendrils of dark hair reaching out behind him.

He can’t remember the last time he’d take a bath without being sick _._ An actual, honest-to-Yoba _bath._ Probably not since he was a kid, since he was the type to splash about in the water and shriek with joy until he was red-faced and long-since determined to be clean _enough._

Sebastian always preferred showers, preferred to stand under the burning spray until he’d been rendered a brilliant red and stared at the tile walls until they swirled under the complete loss of thought. 

And now here he was. 

In a bath. 

“You look like a goth alligator.” 

Sebastian flickers his gaze up. He tries to huff but all he can manage are bubbles before he emerges from the water. He really should put a bell on Alex. He’s standing on the bathroom rug, shorts slung low on his hips and sweater stretched over his chest and mug cradled in his palms.

It shouldn’t shock him, not this far into their relationship, to see him like this. To see him in his socks with his hair unstyled, falling against the line of his brow. It shouldn’t shock him to see Alex with his crooked smile, wayward and worried. It shouldn’t shock him, still, to be like this. To just see him here, like this, in the house they share with the dogs probably snoring in the living room and their bed a mess of tangled sheets because neither one of them remembers to make it on the weekends. 

( _Holy shit is this our life? Are we planning on waking up anytime soon? Hello?)_ Sebastian just blinks at him, for a second, his mind slotting through all the responses. _Yep, our life. It’s not a dream. Hello, indeed._

“This is stupid,” he says, sinking backwards a touch more. “And you look like the cover of _Home and Greenhouse.”_ Well, he tries to, a nasty cough wedges itself between a few of the words, leaving Sebastian to growl to himself and sink lower, until he’s down to his chin again.

Alex raises a brow. “I didn’t know you read home decorating magazines.” He sets the mug on the table he got to bring bath-side (because of _course_ Alex found something like that, because of course he heard the doctor say Sebastian should take a warm bath, should sink into the steam to help clear out his lungs—loosen up the phlegm in his chest, relax the muscles he’s pretty sure haven’t stopped being taut since he got bronchitis, Alex jumped to make it as easy as possible.)

“I don’t.” Sebastian huffs, sitting upright. The water sloshes around him, slamming between his narrow torso and the walls again like an echo chamber of frustration, or some treacherous channel—a place where only the brave would dare traverse, to navigate the narrow strip of water and risk being rent apart and bashed to pieces against the slick porcelain. 

It’s been a long time since Sebastian wondered if Alex was the kind of person to turn away. It creeps up, now and then, a ghost of something whispering under his ear, lurking under the waves. It’s a siren call, begging him to sink lower, to sink down until his ears are covered and close his eyes until Alex realizes just how exhausting it is to take care of him and goes away. 

He doesn’t, though, because that’s neither productive nor would it actually work. 

Alex crouches down next to the lip of the tub, flicking water at Sebastian. “How are you feeling?”

“Like there’s a truck stopped on my chest,” he says, because honesty is key to good communication and if Sebastian has to watch his therapist shift in his seat, toss one leg over the other and raise that stupid fucking eyebrow at him because _Sebastian how, exactly, to you expect anyone to what you need without expressing how you feel_ one more time—he’s gonna lose it. 

“Do you want company?” It’s an innocuous question. At least it is today, Sebastian can feel that (as much as he can feel how pruny he’s gotten stewing in his own annoyance for however long it took Alex to make a cup of tea—it’s not particularly a _sexy_ feeling) Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes Alex says it with his hands already settled under Sebastian’s hoodie, with his thumbs slotted in the cut of his hipbones and his fingers curling towards the small of his back.

Sometimes he says it without wanting an answer, sometimes he asks and pulls Sebastian flush against him in the same breath—lips crushed together in a slick, desperate mess of a kiss. 

Unfortunately, today, Sebastian feels like shit. “Sure.”

There weren’t a lot of requirements Sebastian had in mind when they were looking for places to live. It needed a bedroom, sure, indoor plumbing—the fucking _basics._ Sebastian had slipped in the idea that he needed space, too. That he’d like a room to keep his set-up, where he can curl on his desk chair at two in the morning, brow furrowed in the glow of his computer screen while he’d try his best to work out whatever was fucking up his code. Somewhere where he can be alone, squirrel away from the world and hang the shadows around him like his perpetual raincloud.

Alex wanted a lot of outdoor space and already had _office space_ on his list for Sebastian. 

So, y’know. He really could’ve done worse in terms of boyfriends. 

The second thing they both needed was this: a bath large enough for two full-sized adults. Alex claimed he needed it for ice baths or a deep salt-infused soak whenever he was too sore from work. 

Neither one of them mentioned how annoying it was the first time Sebastian got sick, his feet resting on the wall of the narrow crevice their bath-shower combo was crammed into. He just wanted to sit there while the shower pounded around him, steam sinking into his lungs and shaking him loose. Nor did Sebastian point out that Alex only leaned heavily on the deep for a deep, luxurious, soaking tub the day after he realized that it wouldn’t be the last time.

It’s not _not_ a tight fit with the two of them, Alex stripped down and settled in behind him, legs caging Sebastian’s hips as he leans back against his chest, cheek to collar and fingers tangling over the ledge. 

The radiating warmth off him alongside the topped-off bust of hot water soaking down into the muscles of his stomach seeps through him. It tangles up with the frustration and anxiety—a melting and pooling in the pits of his stomach, all the spaces he used to think were empty and hollow. Alex’s thumb rubs circles over Sebastians. 

Sebastian stares, drinking in the differences between them. He’s all sharp edges and narrow channels—awash in a frantic sea. Alex is solid, a comforting weight radiating heat and energy. He’s a buzz under Sebastian’s skin, crawling between the layers of tissue and muscle and burrowing alongside his bones. They contrast so neatly. Sebastian’s anemic, waxen, skin is stark—not so much _pale_ as _colorless._ Alex is different, a cluster of freckles and skin that’s only recently starting to lose the summer-warm depth to it.

He tilts his head back to look at Alex, dragging his wet hair along his chest. “You’re getting pale in the winter.” 

“See, now you’re just trying to be mean.” There’s no fire, no bite. Alex drops his lips, all fever-check warm, against Sebastian’s forehead. “And you’re in no position to call anyone pale. Now drink your tea.”

He punctuates by dragging Sebastian’s arm back, pressing another light kiss to the inside of his wrist before releasing him. Sebastian collects the mug, still-warm but no longer the sort of blistering heat that he knows he’d burn himself on in a heartbeat. 

Honey and ginger, all the things he needs, all the things he doesn’t exactly _care_ for. He makes a face down at it before taking a sip. “Any chance I could—”

“You can have coffee tomorrow,” Alex says, arms twining around his waist. “Provided you feel better.” He hooks his chin over Sebastian’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut. 

They stay like that for a while, until Sebastian manages down most of the tea and the water inches towards cold with all the unrepentant slowness of the passing of time. Sebastian considers kissing Alex a few times, once they change positions especially—Alex’s back against the wall of the tub and Sebastian half-curled against his chest. It’s a good position to kiss him from. When, y’know, Sebastian’s lungs aren’t trying to force their way up out of his chest.

He does, once or twice, too. Just a taste of the salt-sweet skin and the feeling of Alex under his lips. He runs wet hands down his arms, the length of his chest as he noses up under his jaw, letting Alex heave a sigh and smooth his own palms up the stretch of Sebastian’s ribs. 

“We should get out soon,” Alex murmurs, voice low and rough without making a single move towards getting up. 

Sebastian hums, half paying attention to what he’s saying, half paying attention to nothing at all. He stretches his leg until the ball of his foot is resting against the hot water knob. “Or we can stay?” 

“You were complaining all day about the _idea_ of taking a bath,” Alex says, his smile pressed against Sebastian's throat. It fits perfectly there, as much as he hates to admit it. “I recall a tantrum?”

“It was not a _tantrum,_ it was a _bitch fit_.”

He arches his back to look at Alex, upside down and from a weird angle but — it’s Alex. He lasts a whole half-second like that before another cough tears itself up from the nasty wretches of his lungs, forcing him up and hunched over. Rough palms sweep his narrow shoulders, spreading fingers down the pale expanse of Sebastian’s back. They’re warm, comforting, as they rub circles there—soft lips finding the nape of his neck. 

By the time it passes, he’s shivering—that deep muscle ache in his stomach and the protest from the pits of his chest shuddering out around him. The breaths that come after are ragged, too-quick and too-rough and taste too much like iron and—nope _nope_ not going to think about it.

Not going to think about it at all. 

Sebastian scrubs his hand over his face, pushing back half-dried hair and chasing any semblance of calm and peace in the moments between his hummingbird pulse-beat. One hand curls around to his chest, rubbing there with a solid weight. A firmness that shakes him from his stupor, if only for a moment. 

“Hey,” Alex says in that wild-animal soothing way. “You good?”

All he can manage is a groan, something tired and low as he hears Alex get up from the water behind him. Exhaustion slams into Sebastian, rattling him down to his bones as Alex helps him up and wraps him up a towel, kiss lingering there at his brow. 

A few minutes finds him in one of Alex’s sweatshirts, oversized and almost too warm between the crackling fireplace and the little humidifier Sebastian ordered to try to shake the ick from his chest. His hair half-dried, curling against his temples as he curls on the sofa, a tight ball on his side and his nose buried in the soft, stretched out collar. Dusty had found his way up to the space by Sebastian’s feet, some furry part of him tickling the back of his calf as he heaves a heavy, sleepy sigh. 

Sebastian can commiserate, even if his chest feels too full for a _sigh_ at the moment. 

He could be working. He _should_ be working. He should be crawled up in his office, squirreled away in the darkness at his desk getting another module ready for another client. 

He shouldn’t be there, eyes closed, breathing in the warmth of the air around him. He shouldn’t be dozing into the sort of stillness that catches between breaths, that wraps around him, draping down over his shoulders and leaning it’s weight onto his ribcage. A perfect collapse into the twilight of sleep.

He shouldn’t, but there’s a lot of things Sebastian shouldn’t do. Never really stopped him before. 

“C’mon bud,” Alex mutters, voice at the other end of the couch. There’s a long, low, canine groan and then the jingle of a collar as Dusty’s near-nap is immediately disrupted. The couch dips as Alex takes his place, guiding Sebastian’s legs up over his lap as he rolls onto his back. 

“Hi,” Sebastians croaks, the ghost of another coughing fit lingering on the edges of his voice. 

“Hey,” Alex echoes, the weight of his heavy hand curling over the narrow rattle of bones that comprises Sebastian's ankle. “I made you some soup.”

His stomach churns around the idea, not unsettled but not exactly gnawing itself over to eat. Alex catches the expression, giving his ankle a parting squeeze—if just for a moment. “You should eat.” 

“I’m not hungry.” It’s not untrue, not a lie, not tangled in the intricacies of anxiety and self-loathing.

Alex hunches over, a kiss to the space above his hand. “Surprisingly, I don’t care. You’re supposed to take your meds with food.”

Arms hugging his chest, Sebastian burrows himself deeper into the sweater. “I can always cough on you, you know. Let’s see how that immune system holds up against a direct attack.”

“C’mon you _biohazard.”_ Alex leans over him to move the bowl closer. Sebastian will admit, it looks good. He shifts closer, just enough for a cursory sniff. 

He quirks a brow over his shoulder. “When did my mom come by?”

“Couple days ago, when we got back from the clinic and you slept for eleven hours. She brought enough soup to fill the freezer.” 

Now he sits up. It takes some effort—whatever energy he had earlier drained into a much more familiar exhaustion, one that leaves him with his legs tucked under himself and his temple resting on the firm edge of Alex’s shoulder. He doesn’t go immediately for the food, doesn’t do much but linger there—his narrow fingers slot between Alex’s and their knees bumping comfortably. 

They stay like that for a while, Alex’s nose buried in the half-dried black tangle of Sebastian’s hair. If he eats like that, pressed into Alex’s side, that’s his own business. 

If he falls asleep like that—drifting off into nothing with fingers loosely tangled and a heartbeat pounding away beneath him—then really, it simply nothing new. 

**Author's Note:**

> (I DO take requests - I wish I had a better place to collect them/solicit them but since I deleted my tumblr we're left flailing about.)
> 
> In addition to Duendecillo, this is also dedicated to my chest cold that I appear to be getting (alongside everyone else in my workplace). I love you, you are all my valentines this year - expect your favorite flower and one (1) bird feather.
> 
> Also: Goth Alligator (Gothigator)


End file.
